
Class _3-S_llii 



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CQVitSiGKt DEPOSIT. 




' ^"iwmmuktmiF 



Oh lake! a light of olden skies 
Is on thy surface shining; 

A glory and a splendor lies 

Around thy shores undying. 

(P. 67) 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



A Voice of the Hills 



Poems by 

John Warren Gordon 

Barre, Vermont 
1917 






CAPITAL CITY PRESS, PUBLISHERS 
MONTPELIER, VT. 






COPYRIGHT, NINETEEN-SEVENTEEN 
BY JOHN W. GORDON 



m 30 1917 



PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



1 /I ri . I 



CONTENTS 



CONTENTS 

A Chevalier .90 

A Medley of the Vermont Senate of 1910 ... 22 

Amo .17 

A Salute 38 

A Scotch Friend 65 

A Scrap of Paper 63 

Barre Academy 44 

Boston 116 

Burns 18 

Christmas 36 

Columbus 70 

Dartmouth 110 

Dartmouth Reunion 99 

Dedication of a Soldiers' Monument .... 45 

Forget It 115 

Finis 120 

Honest John 82 

In Memoriam 35 

Joseph A. DeBoer 42 

5 



CONTENTS 



Lake Champlain 67 

Modern War 75 

New Year's Eve in Church 105 

Neighbors 115 

On the Death of a Friend 43 

Our Charms 94 

Over the Top 88 

Preparedness 40 

Presenting a Dining Set to a Pastor .... 92 

Proem 11 

Rock Dunder 91 

Samuel De Champlain 12 

Senator B 96 

Senator G 98 

Senator L 95 

Shipwreck of the Republic 119 

Sir Isaac's Sport 77 

Soldiers' Monument . 100 

Star of Peace 109 

The Anglers 107 

The Battle of Plattsburg Bay 103 

The Class of Eighty-Three 47 

The Child and the Stars 70 



CONTENTS 



The Donnar Oak 80 

The Founder of Dartmouth 60 

The Muck Rake 118 

The New Inn 117 

The Odd Fellow 76 

The Pleasures of the Angler 14 

The Reunion at Gettysburg 84 

The States to Canada 102 

The Ten Pin Club of Chelsea 113 

The Tree 114 

Vermont 13 

Vision of Peace .64 



TO MT WIFE. 



How oft you plied the pruning book 
With eager purpose to improve 
Until the sense would be more clear 
And smoother would the numbers move. 

And if the merit still be small 
No fault attaches to your part, 
For to the reader I confess 
The fault lies in the writer^s art. 

—J. W. G. 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



PROEM 



WE vainly wish that they were better- 
These products of our idle hours- 
That they were true in line and letter 
As are the stars and vernal flowers. 

But not to all the gift of song 

That rises to the height of art, 

That can from age to age prolong 
The music of the human heart. 

But simple songs may have a charm 
Denied to more pretentious lays; 

Some plants that gentle heat will warm 
Would wither in a tropic blaze. 

No reader with a critic's eye 

Should waste his time upon these pages; 
To win his praise we did not try 

Nor shall we sorrow if he rages. 

So here they are — our waifs of fancy- 
No thunderous line to stun the ear, 

No witching, rythmic, necromancy, 
No tragic word to draw a tear. 



11 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



SAMUEL DE CHAMPLAIN 

BENEATH the thatch, beside the salty marsh, 
Where daily bread was daily task. 
Where Fortune's frowns were stern and harsh 
And small the gifts that peasants ask, 

There one of Nature's noblemen was born. 
Whose heraldry should be his deed. 

Whose mind to high emprise was borne. 

Whose hand should plant an empire's seed. 

In ev'ry deed he chose the nobler part. 
And none e'er saw his courage lag 

And whiter were the lilies of his heart 
Than were the lilies of his flag. 

Oh France! Could you have seen, as we can see. 
The wonders of the lands he trod; 

What peoples, cities, states were yet to be 
On what you thought was worthless sod. 

You might have won the struggle with the Saxon 
Your heart to-day might thrill to see, 

In place of Stars and Stripes, or Cross and Dragon, 
The lilies of your Fleur de Lis. 



12 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



VERMONT 

YOUR western border is a lake, 
Your eastern is a river; 
Your name from hills of green you take 
That are a joy forever. 

No ocean pours upon your lands, 
The wealth of distant havens; 

But mountains are your lifted hands 
For bounty of the heavens. 

Let others boast their sunny climes 
And rich and broad plantations; 

We choose your season^s changing rhymes 
And beautiful mutations. 

The sultry winds that move the palm 
Where day and night are equal 

N'er wake the northern pine-tree psalm 
Where spring is winter's sequel. 



13 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE PLEASURES OF THE ANGLER 

WHEN birds sing best and meadows bloom, 
When trees are list'ning to the brooks 
And waters leap the rocks in foam, 
The anglers seek sequestered nooks. 
Supplied with bait of worm or fly. 
With silken line and springing pole 
That reach where speckled beauties lie 
In running stream and crystal pool. 
In patient watch they sit and wait. 
In meditation's happy dream, 
Disturbed by nibbles at the bait 
Or by the voices of the stream. 

These voices are a joyous thing; 
Upon the ear they louder grow 
Till all the air and landscape ring; 
Then blend in music soft and low. 
At times a note is sharp and clear. 
So real it seems, you glance about 
To see what friend is standing near 
And finding none are left in doubt. 
The waters laugh at your surprise 
And chatter onward through the lea, 
Repeating oft in human guise 
The note that startled you and me. 



14 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



What memories these voices wake 
Of days when all the world was new, 
When woodland, mountain, stream and lake 
Encircled all the sports we knew. 
Before the arrows made a wound, 
Before we sought the heights and deeps. 
Or grass was green upon the mound 
Beneath whose sod a playmate sleeps. 

Ah! What a symbol of our life 
The stream that glistens as it flows! 
Against the rocks it beats in strife 
Or frets 'neath Winter ice and snows. 
Then out it flows in sunny June 
To feed the roots of grass and flower 
And sing its merry Summer tune 
From morning light to vesper hour. 
Twixt life and death, a silver thread 
That stretches through the verdant land 
From mountain source to Ocean bed,- 
A wonder wrought by Nature's hand. 

And all the stars above it pass 
And pause to see their image there. 
For beautiful in the liquid glass 
The jewels of the night appear. 
The same to-day as yesterday, 
It hurries onward to the sea; 
The same tomorrow as to-day, 
A changeless change its destiny. 



15 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



To scenes like these the angler turns 
And leaves the fretting world behind 
To seek amid the flowers and ferns 
The joys that Nature has refined. 



16 




Today our poet stands in granite mold, 

So weel and deftly wrought by loving hands; 

But half the good he did is still untold; 

In song he worketh yet in all the lands. 

(P. 20) 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



AMO 

1L0VE the poet's song, 
Sung on the evening air, 
Whose lips the bee hath stung 
And left its honey there. 

I love the sculptor's hand, 

Who carves a dream in stone 

And beautifies the land 

With forms that we have known. 

I love the painter's brush, 

Adorning wall and dome. 
That brings the heart to hush 

In the corridors of Rome. 

I love the hero's name 

Who died to make us free 

And won immortal fame 
Upon the land or sea. 

I love the great and good. 

Whose steps we fondly trace, 

Whose hearts were understood, 

Whose works have blessed the race. 

I love the hearth of home 

Where kindly faces meet. 
No matter where I roam 

I thither turn my feet. 



17 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



BURNS* 

AND it was Robbie Burns who sang so sweet 
Of lovely Ayrshire braes and Bonnie Doon; 
All of the melodies of song did meet 

To swell the chorus of his lyric tune. 

Alike to him the rose and thistle grew,- 

The daisy and the mouse were noble theme; 

Twa Dogs, philosophers as wise and true 

As those who delve in classic learning's stream. 

Of rant and cant the strong and certain foe, 
As keepers of Twa Herds fu' well can tell, 

And quackish Doctor Hornbrooks well may know 
Upon whose shams his arrows thickly fell. 

The deil, like sin, a brunstane roasting got 

That left him sair as Tam O'Shanter's mare; 

'Twas worse by far, since Angel Michael's shot, 
When hosts on heavenly plane were 'gaged in 
war. 

*Read in accepting the Bums* monument for the City of Barre. 

18 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



As moralist, oft-times sagacious, true,- 

To him our pleasures were like poppies spread, 

Like river- m.elted flake or rainbow hue, 

Like flowers seized, or flitting light that's 
fled. 

He gave the highest place to woman fair; 

He told us how that Nature first made man 
With 'prentice hand, and then, with greater care, 

She made the lassies on a better plan. 

Lang, lang as hearts shall know the tender flame 
And body make a body laugh or cry, 

The tongue shall not forget the singer's name 
Who sang the song of **Comin' Thro' the Rye." 

When age shall whiten beard and bend the form. 
And friends of youth their place must soon 
resign. 
In Simmer's sultry heat or Winter's storm. 

The voice shall con the lines of Auld Lang 
Syne. 

When auld companions, on life's further slope. 

Recall the canty days of long ago. 
They'll walk with firmer step and brighter hope 

Remembering **John Anderson, My Jo." 



19 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



When titled lords look down on kith and kin, 
Despising hoddin gray and simple samp, 

As if the common wore the badge of sin, 

We'll know the rank is but the guinea's stamp. 

In every patriot's veins for aye shall burn 

The Godlike praise that Highland heroes won 

For doughty deeds at bloody Bannockburn, 
When Edward's day of tyranny was done. 

And Scotia's grandeur stronger yet shall spring 
From prayerful scene beneath the Cotter's 
roof 

And every clime and age shall joy to bring 

Its praise and laurels as affection's proof. 

Oft fortune was severe, but sad or gay, 
Aboon the ills o' life he wore a smile 

That makes the world rejoice to bless the day 
And hour '*There was a lad was born in Kyle." 

To-day our poet stands in granite mold. 

So weel and deftly wrought by loving hands; 

But half the good he did is still untold; 

In song he worketh yet in all the lands. 

His deed was broader than a plan or book: 

"For Puir Old Scotland's Sake" he sang a song 

And earth and sky a fresher glory took, 

As over all his light shone bright and strong. 



20 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



Still flowers bloom beside the Bonnie Doon, 

The heather sweetly grows on Highland brae; 

Unchanged as these as cycles forward run, 

Shall be the songs that gladden us today. 

We take the gift that you so freely give; 

Be thankit for the purpose and the art; 
His nobler thoughts you'll make us better live, 

His name shall be a truer treasure of the heart. 



21 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



A MEDLEY 

on the 

VERMONT SENATE OF 1910 

WE beg your pardon while we sing 
Not of a knight or prince or king, 
But of the men who gathered here 
And breathed this Chamber's atmosphere. 
We'll box the counties in our rhymes 
And sing the praise of Good Old Times, 
When thirty men assembled here 
And asked no odds of any year. 
Whate'er was wrong we tried to shun, 
Whate'er was right, was quickly done. 
Our labor is a wonder yet 
To those who know the worth they get. 
We labored near a hundred days 
And twisted laws a thousand ways. 
Just as the greatest artists do 
Until our work, like theirs, was true. 

*Twas not by many laws enacted, 
We won our legislative bays. 

Alike for evil ones rejected 

We should receive a people's praise. 

For laws, like books, are weariness 
To flesh, if freely multiplied. 



22 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



A few that rest on righteousness 

Will serve a State and be its pride. 
That all our statutes were wise ones 

Is not the honor that we claim, 
But as the current wisdom runs, 

We did deserve a decent fame. 
That some good laws were left unpassed, 

Is not a wonder or surprise; 
Some will remain unto the last 

For men to fashion and revise. 
But as the years shall come and go. 

And here shall gather other men. 
What better record will they show, 

Than that of nineteen hundred ten? 
And that is why we wondered more and more 
That people never thought of us before. 

Our strong point was variety. 

We were of various shapes and sizes, 
No matter what the show might be 
We had a subject for the prizes. 
We had extremes of both the lean and fat. 
Our President and Vice were proof of that. 
Some eyes were grey and some were brown or blue 
But each could pierce a statute through and 

through. 
Here white hair crowned an honored head. 
While other heads were topped with black or red. 
All knew their part and kept each Senate rule. 
Though David said the writer played the fool. 



23 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



BOXING THE COUNTIES 

LAMOILLE County showed its usual spunk, 
And sent us Pike, not fashioned out of punk. 
His brevity commended what he said. 
And none were wrong, who followed where he lead. 
From Franklin, aptly named from him 

Who stole the lightning of Almighty Jove, 
Came Shepardson and Sheldon, short and slim. 

Whose work the sane and sober will approve. 
And Griswold was the member from Grand Isle, 
Where sky and land and water laugh and smile. 
His pleasant face bespoke his habitation 
Amid the isles that are the gem of all creation. 

From Caledonia came Dave and Darling, 
A goodly pair, though Dave was sometimes 

snarling. 
He monkeyed mostly with the Normal Schools, 
And said the world was made of him and fools. 
The Doctor thought his trade was underpaid, 
**We ought to raise the price of pills," he said, 
'*Naught else could rid the world of sinners faster. 
Nor pestilence, nor famine, nor disaster." 
Dave thought so too, and said, as I remember, 
He'd try a pill upon a certain member 
And if it proved an efficacious pill 
He'd vote with all his heart to pass the bill. 
Just who his victim was, he indicated, - 
I was the one he wished was medicated. 



24 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



From Windham came a Butler and our Adams, 
Their depth of wisdom measured by the fathoms; 
One tried to make the railroads advertise, 
One never could have lost a paradise. 
One ripe in years, one skillful at a trade. 
And both can claim a useful record made. 

From Windsor came a trinity of sages, 

A banker, lawyer, sheriff, made the three; 

So versed were they in wisdom of the ages 

That from our modern errors they were free. 

One had a sweetly face, one never smiled. 

The banker never showed that he was riled. 

From Chittenden a trio came. 

We called them, Norton, Max and Smith; 
No witch could choose a better name. 

Than one of these to conjure with. 
Max built an inn and tried to make us think 
He should be given rights to sell a drink. 
We listened to his argument and facts 
And said he might if he would pay the tax. 
So *tis that in the City by the Lake 
You'll find there's something for the stomach's 
sake. 

From Addison, where flows the Otter Creek, 
Came two, though one was never known to speak. 
But there's an ancient proverb of the race 
That silence golden is in any place. 



25 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



We knew his face concealed no sin or liquors, 
Though it was nearly hid behind his whiskers. 
The other loved a horse, as well as song, — 
A gentle man whom we shall treasure long. 

The Essex Senator was very dignified 
And thought that every question had a doubtful 

side. 
He doubted much the wisdom of the income tax 
And could not see that it agreed with him or facts. 
The temperance laws, he tinkered, mixed and 

mussed 
Until his colleagues fidgeted and cussed, 
And yet so worthy was his labor and his powess 
That in four years he jumped the State for 

Congress. 

From Bennington, there came a steady pair 
That worked the evener with contented air. 
A fleece of white adorned the Gushman head, 
While Archibald's was decked with auburn red. 
Why hair should differ when the men agreed 
Is unexplained by Harry Daniel's creed. 
What one might think, the other never doubted. 
Alike in thought, alike they always voted. 
So both were right or wrong in every case. 
But right or wrong they ran a goodly race. 



26 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



From Orleans came a Butterfield and Taplin 
Tall timber each, for neither was a saplin'. 
One was a veteran of the Civil War, 
The other bravely fought the gilded bar. 
Both were six feet or more without their shoes, 
Which was the better man, 'twas hard to choose. 

Old Orange County sent her contribution. 
But wished we had a different Constitution, 
For though she raised the best of beef and pork, 
She never could domesticate the stork. 
Her loss of population left her one. 
Where two had been who always weighed a ton. 
For Orange, worthy senators had sent, 
Whose energies on better laws were bent. 
In State expense had Scribner had his say. 
Less fault had been in what we had to pay. 
And few the errors that the critic blames 
In Seaver's careful scrutiny of claims. 

The Senators from Rutland numbered four. 
An Orange Senator explained the score: 
**Four men created on the Rutland plan 
Would barely match an Orange County man." 
To which a Rutland member made reply, 
**The Eunuch envies those who multiply." 
But four they were and made a handy team 
To row the boat across or up the stream. 
Hitchcock was rarely absent from his seat. 
While Barden sought to make a bigger State, 



27 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



And Clark was deep and wise in lore and law, 

And ready to detect a hidden flaw; 

His speech was brief, his eyes and hair were dark, 

His beard too short to make a patriarch. 

He was a pious man who hated sham, 

But Rutland habits caught him saying damn. 

The bravest of the four in serious battle 
Was Rutland's doughty member, Tuttle: 
He urged that each should die behind his gun, 
But sad to say was first to turn and run. 
He wisely chose the ancient hero's way 
Who ran awaj^ to fight some other day. 

From Washington we had a curious set. 
Judge Lyford, wise, — smoke that, and don't 

forget. 
And there was Harry, something out of order. 
The most peculiar man within our border. 
Whate'er the battle, he was ready with his gun 
To shoot at sight, or make us merry with his 

fun. 
And last the writer, something of an ass. 
Of no account or note, so let him pass. 

Such was the bunch of thirty men 
Whose like will rarely meet again. 
And have the right to wonder more and more 

Why people never thought of them before. 



28 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



WHAT THE BUNCH DID 

WE tackled every problem with a zest. 
For hedgehogs, rats and snakes we did 
our best. 
We gave the people honest weight and measure, 
For mileage took a little of their treasure, 
Prohibited monopoly and trust, 
By laws that made the corporation just. 
On bridge and road we spent the public money 
Until our acts appeared a little funny. 
We vainly tried by statutory force 
To hitch a lantern to the farmer's horse. 
We tried all ways to carry out our will 
But only left the heading of the bill. 
We gave the cows a third tubercle test 
Then stopped to let the farmer pay the rest. 
But as we worked we wondered more and more 
Why people never thought of us before. 

Among our number, two could lift a lofty 
strain 
With songs that thrilled the heart and lingered 
in the brain. 
As tedious labors ended 
Their harmonies were blended. 
But where policemen found their hats, they 
never could explain. 



29 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



To see two Senators in want and sore distressed 
With nothing on their heads, for reasons never 

guessed, 
To be sure, made us wonder more and more 

Why people never thought of them before. 

Our legislative road, at times a little rocky, 
Required all our skill but soon we found a 

jockey. 
When railroad magnets came and asked us for 

our aid 
He boldly took the floor and stumped them to 

a trade. 
He offered boot, but still they let the challenge 

go. 
Perhaps they knew the many scalps that he 

could show. 
And as he worked he wondered more and more 
Why people never thought of him before. 

And Harry caused a smiling ripple 
By asking that we ballot for the people. 
He seemed to be impressed, we had forgot, 
And only he was **Johnny-on-the-Spot." 
And as he worked he wondered more and more 
Why people never thought of him before. 

The Chairman of Committee on the Normal 
Schools, 
Reported that the dunces needed better stools. 



30 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



Some laughed, he said they might, he did not 
care a rap, 

He knew some folk that ought to wear the dunce's 
' cap. 

But some contended Dave had missed his cal- 
culation, 

That changing stools would never meet the 
situation. 

But he was firm, he'd have the stools, he would 
not budge; 

We yielded, let him have a stool and made him 
judge. 

It was a funny way to drive a man to tipple. 
But Harry said 'twas right; a ballot for the 
people. 

And as we worked, we wondered more and more 

Why people Jiever thought of Dave before. 

We were a sober crew as ever sailed a ship. 
No liquor, hot or cold, had ever passed our lip. 
So Senate No. 1, about a licensed inn. 
Appeared an open door for gilded, sordid sin. 
It sprung a mighty row that shook the Senate 

Room 
Until the Goddess lost her balance on the dome, 
And never since, 'tis said, has felt herself at 

home. 
Then is it strange we wondered more and more 
Why people never thought of us before? 



31 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



We had another fight (I think it was trustee), 

But certainly I know, we never did agree. 

We threshed it out in many ways from start to 
close, 

Then put it in a pigeon hole to slumber and re- 
pose. 

What future fate it had, is not for me to tell, 

Nor say the wicked thoughts that wished it 
back in 

Will some good member name the word that 
rhymes with tell? 

I can't recall it but I know it has a sulphur 
smell. 

If none of you can aid I know who'll help me out. 

The Chaplain can supply a Bible word, no doubt. 

So as we fought we wondered more and more, 

Why people never thought of us before. 

There was another task we had to regulate, 
It was to solve the taxing problem of the State. 
We passed a bill and sent it over to the House 
Where Wisdom slipped around as slyly as a 

mouse. 
They nibbled it as though it were a piece of 

cheese. 
Then bit, threw up the head and swallowed it 

with ease. 
We'd won a victory and all were filled with joy 
And felt as when a school has loosened up a boy. 
For all would have a uniformity of tax, 



32 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



When, lo! as cocks were crowing, fell the veto 

axe. 
But as we worked we wondered more and more 

Why people never thought of us before. 

The mount that stands across the river 

And looks on Brattleboro's ancient town. 

Once had volcanic fires that made it quiver-, 
So run the legends that to us come down. 

Its fires are dead and all its thunders still, 
But in their stead, we have a famous bor- 
ough 

And if you want a fight that has a thrill 

You cannot beat the town of Brattleboro. 

We've seen the roaring lions in their cage 

And stopped to watch them snap and ramp and 
rage, 

But for a first class, up-to-date affair. 

With Brattleboro, nothing can compare. 

Four years ago there met two mighty dragons. 

As fierce as those in legends of the Saxons. 

Their long blue forms across the land were 
drawn, 

They fought from light to dark, from dark to 
dawn. 

They fought for rights of way beside the river, 

Their ponderous lunges made the mountains 
quiver. 

Their rights and wrongs, if any either had, 

Were so confused and mixed that all went mad. 



33 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



Their battle seemed at times a dance or spree 
But that it was a sight we all agree. 
We tried to arbitrate for all concerned, 
But disagreed, did nothing and adjourned. 
Some said we'd drawn and sown the dragon's 

teeth, 
But peace hath come, the sword hath found its 

sheath. 
So as we worked we wondered more and more 
Why people never thought of us before. 

My Muse must stop, with many left unsung. 
Their work and worth unsuited to a babbler's 

tongue. 
We've culled the meadows o'er and gathered 

weeds 
And left untouched the fruit of useful seeds. 
The world does thus. The dogs at fight or play 
Draw crowds that from a sage would turn away. 
The monkey on a pole will get the pennies. 
And wise philosophers be counted ninnies. 
If by the papers you attain a rank. 
You'll find yourself a jail-bird or a crank. 
If for the right you stand, a sturdy oak, 
They'll laugh and treat you as the latest joke. 



34 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



IN MEMORIAM^ 

ANOTHER chord we strike, 'tis one of sadness, 
Two empty chairs, to-night, must chill our 
gladness. 
Two souls have gone, as true to Duty's call 
As any, who have met the fate of all. 
Their genial presence, missed by us so soon. 
Has left a fragrance, sweet as flowers in June. 
We cannot speak the words their spirits might 
But we are thinking they would say to-night, - 
**Remember us in gladness, not in tears. 
**Let merry greetings fill your future years. 
''Remember us, but let the symbol be 
*'The smiling flower, not the cypress tree. 
''Your tears will fall to earth and do no more, 
"But joy hath wings to reach the other shore." 

I. Senators C. and S. 



35 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



CHRISTMAS 

WE love the story of the Nazarene, 
Born in a glory, man had never seen. 
A star shone on the path the wisemen trod 
In seeking for the birthplace of their God. 
An angel was the herald of the news: 
**A King is born to rule above the Jews!" 

The race from which He sprang denied His right, 
His claim divine was hateful in their sight. 
*'A greater one/' they said, **would come and 

reign 
And all the earth would follow in his train; 
The kings and emperors by men appointed 
Would bow before the throne of their annointed." 

They persecuted Him Who would redeem, 
Who wore, unstained, the robe without a seam. 
Who calmed the waves with power from the 

skies, 
Restored the blind and made the dead arise. 
By common things He taught and truth revealed 
Drew lessons from the lilies of the field. 
The empty lamps, the talents that the servant 

hid, 
And feast to which the multitudes were bid. 



36 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



That he might purge the world of sinful dross 
He underwent the passion of the Cross. 
He burst the tomb, His persecutors sealed 
And immortality to earth revealed. 
Although His head had not a place to lie 
He went to build us mansions in the sky. 

The ages pass, and now we hear again, 
The joyous news, heard on Judea's plain. 
That glorious message of the Manger's birth 
Which shepherds heard, — **Good will and peace 
on earth." 



37 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



A SALUTE* 



A MOTHER watched the lorries pass 
And saw their banners fly, 
Not thinking of a courtesy 
From soldiers riding by. 

She heeded not the cheering crowd 
But stood apart and mute, 

When lo, a soldier raised his cap 
And gave a glad salute. 

And every soldier passing by 

Like homage to her paid 
Until a thousand gallant lads 

Their courtesies had made. 



It was a gracious little deed 

That lifted half the weight 
Of sorrow from a mother's heart, 

Torn by a cruel fate. 

*Founded on an incident of American soldiers 
passing through a French city. 



38 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



It was a tribute to her sons 

Who fell beside the Marne 
When German hords were beaten back 

With legions rent and torn. 

The lads who doffed their caps had come 
To fight for bleeding France, 

To right the wrongs to Belgium done, 
To break a tyrant's lance. 

Upon some battle-field these lads 

May win the hero's prize. 
But what will match the kindly deed 

Which met that mother's eyes? 



39 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



PREPAREDNESS 
1916 

NO matter where you go, sport is the rage 
That fills the mind and heart of youth and 
age. 
Our patriot duties now are quickly done 
In burning Chinese crackers for our fun 
Or watching once a year our eagle sail 
While stars fly off a pinwheel on its tail. 

For volunteers our country sent her call; 
Less came prepared than crowd a college **bowr'. 
Is there no danger to the home and state, 
When we will watch a game while duties wait — 
Will boys whom we have taught to bat and kick. 
Defend us 'mid the perils black and thick? 
We do not doubt that they will have the will. 
But will they have the practice and the skill? 

No boy should wear the stunted form of toil 
Or know too soon life's battle and turmoil; 
But still before he reaches man's estate, 
He should be taught and trained to serve the 
state. 



40 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



We would not banish play; it has a place 
To make a happy, strong and vigorous race, 
But when it is more sought and prized than 

work, 
It breeds the fop, the slacker and the shirk. 

Greece lost her phalanx, kept her dance 

And none were found to meet the foe's advance. 

In primal days when hearts were strong and true 

Across the world, the Roman eagles flew; 

But when the shows of later days enthrall 

They perched upon the coliseum's wall. 

Oh for a Juvenal to flay our sins. 

Lest we forget before decay begins! 



41 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



JOSEPH A. DEBOER 

THE law is written: **Dust to dust returns," 
But noble lives are not enclosed by urns. 
The star shines on although its fires are dead 
And dark the place from which its rays were 
shed. 

We stand today beside his lifeless ashes 
But in the light that from his spirit flashes. 
Few of his mien and make will cross our path 
To make our deeds seem scattered aftermath. 

His civic worth, his moral dignity. 
His clear preceptions, stern integrity. 
His happy speech that vocalized his thought. 
The constancy with which his tasks were 
wrought, 

His earnest work in every line of duty. 

His mind so well endowed by nature's bounty. 

Ideals spread upon a generous plan,- 

All make us see God's image in the man. 



42 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND' 

THERE is a veil that covers day, 
A darkness that will pass away. 
There is a frost upon the glass 
Through which the rays opaquely pass. 
There is a mist upon the stream 
Where sunlight made the crystals gleam. 
There is a cloud above the flowers 
Where dew is found in morning hours. 

How soon the night will turn to day 

And all the darkness pass away, 

How soon the frost will leave the pane 

And let the sunlight shine again, 

How soon the mist will leave the stream 

And let the darkened crystals gleam, 

How soon the cloud will break away 

That hides the jewels of the day. 

Are mysteries we may not solve 

And yet we know they will dissolve. 

The day, the crystals and the dew 
And broken rays will shine anew 
And he shall see as he was seen 
Through all the darkness that has been. 

I. Edmund M. Roscoe. 

43 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



BARRE ACADEMY 

HERE in our midst once stood a school, 
No classic shade around it grew, 
No columns dressed by Attic rule. 

No marble walls their shadows threw. 

A pillared porch adorned the front, 
A modest touch of ancient art. 

Above, a belfry square and blunt. 

That hardly seemed a crowning part. 

But not in pomp and circumstance 

Our greatest good and worth are found. 

The unpretentious school, perchance. 

May teach us learning deep and sound. 

For time and structure matter not. 

A lesson learned upon a log 
Is worth as much as though 'twere taught 

In hall of classic pedagogue. 

The light that shone from knots of pine 
Upon the page that Lincoln read, 

Illumined thoughts as true and fine 
As where a golden ray is shed. 



44 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



DEDICATION OF A SOLDIERS' MONUMENT 

THE hills from which you wrought this stone 
Have stood the ages through; 
The deeds our soldiers dead have done 
Like them are grand and true. 

The fairest realm is Nature's bane 

If heroes be forgot; 
The harvest yield is little gain 

If worth is treasured not. 

Count o'er your wealth of grain and gold- 
How poor beside the names 

That on our tablets are enrolled, - 
The children that are fame's. 

Amid these rocks and wooded hills 

Shall sleep this noble race, 
And mountains be the sentinels 

That guard their resting place. 

Not storied urn, but grassy sod 

Contains the mortal part; 
Their spirit is our heritage of God 

That liveth in the heart. 



45 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



The sons of men like these are free 
By what their fathers wrought; 

The fruits no vision can forsee, 
Of battles that they fought. 

We know not yet the distant lands 
O'er which our flag shall fly; 

We only know, in other hands, 
It's glory shall not die. 

The luster of their deeds shall shine 
Through all the coming years. 

Till men forget those deeds divine 
And valor disappears. 

This humble witness of our land 
May crumble into dust; 

The freedom of a race shall stand 
To mark their faith and trust. 

In benediction let us bow 

And lift a prayer of grace 

That we our gratitude may show 
And make this holy place. 



46 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE GLASS OF EIGHTY-THREE^^ 

YOU ask me for a sketch. What shall I say? 
What harvest toll since graduation day 
From winged years that pass so swiftly by 
I cannot count their milestones if I try? 
Of others, not of self, I'll sing today, 
Of olden times and scenes long past away. 
And short and sweet the story is in telling 
Of vanished scenes that in our minds are dwelling. 

I see again the Class of Eighty-Three, 
A lusty lot of lads you will agree, 
A happy, jolly set of Dartmouth men 
As ever swung a bat or pushed a pen. 
And whether from the hills or plains we came 
We had a worthy purpose just the same. 

We waded through old Quimby's mathe- 
matics 
Long since forgotten in our dusty attics. 
A few who were peculiar in their actions 
Went forward till they flunked in conic sections. 
Professor Hardy took the upper class 
But Tute^ had no descendants of the ass. 

1. Written for a class history. 

2. Tutor Worthen. 



47 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



Both classes worked till graduation day 
But which was best is not for me to say. 
Professor Hardy was so thin and slim, 
A line between two points resembled him. 
Although he wore the latest style of dress 
He made us know and would not let us guess. 
But Tute marked high when loudest was the 

noise 
At jokes he cracked upon his luckless boys. 
He loved applause and made the lessons easy 
With jests at us when we were mixed and hazy. 

How restively we warmed the classic bench 
While Parlez Vous^ instructed us in French; 
And all of us displayed our nerve and pluck 
Until we mastered physics under Chuck.^ 
We studied chemic atoms under Bob,^ 
A work that often made our temples throb. 
We chased those atoms through the formulae 
Although elusive as an Irish flea. 
They always seemed to be upon the wing 
And had no pesky necks that we could wring; 
But if, perchance, they were endowed with eyes 
They saw our marks were just about their size. 
Hitchcock, a saint of geologic fame. 
Who had a curious pseudonymic name. 
Tried hard to teach our sophomoric blocks 
The wonders found in strata and in rocks. 

1. Prof. Pollens. 2. Prof. Emerson 
3. Prof. Bartlett 



48 




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<: 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



Professor Sanborn taught us how to speak, 
What models were the best for us to seek, 
How use our hands and arms to emphasize, 
How with our thoughts to let them fall or rise. 
Although specific were the rules he taught 
We pawed the air and lost our thread of thought. 
So when our thoughts went soaring to the skies, 
The hand might point to where the hot place 

lies. 
We spoke our pieces Friday, hangman's day, 
Upon the spot where Webster blazed away. 
The chapel platform seemed a rocking ship 
Forever ready for its final dip. 
The sickness of the sea cannot compare 
With all the shaky ills we had to bear. 
'Twas worth the cost. There is no way to reach 
The hearts of others like the art of speech. 

Today, the skill to scribble on a stool 
Supplants the art once honored in the school. 
The eloquence that swayed the people's will 
No longer moves the legislative mill. 
No sparks of wisdom fly from mental flint 
When Solons only ask for leave to print. 
When senators must practice with a fork 
Because the tool is used in handling pork. 
All high debate is banished from the floor. 
We grant five minutes talk, then slam the door. 
Time gives the statesman rank (though 'tis a 

pity) 
And honored place on this or that committee. 



49 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



A service tag upon a money bag 

Is honor's prize for which we strut and brag. 

At church there is no crowd to jostle through 
Nor wake the devil sleeping in your pew, 
But multitudes will gather, sweat and loll 
To watch the fortunes of a game of ball. 
The preacher reads a dry-leaf invitation 
Inviting sinners to accept salvation. 
But Billy Sunday weilds the vocal rod 
And thousands hit the sawdust trail for God. 
Behold the hosts upon their mission sent 
When Hermit Peter woke a continent! 
The voice of Chatham leaning on his crutch 
Bade England rise with empires in her clutch. 
What bold and burning words did Henry fling 
Square on the forehead of a British king! 
Above the clash of swords and roar of guns 
Lloyd George proclaims the will of England's 
sons. 

The pen, though it be mightier than the 
sword, 

Has not the power of the spoken word. 

When God created Heaven, Earth and Men 

He used the tongue Himself and not the pen. 

He spoke, each star and planet took its station; 

He spoke, and light broke on the new creation. 

The two must differ as the weak and strong 

Because man made the pen, God made the ton- 
gue. 

50 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



But we digress. Let us resume our theme 
While Billy works the world's redemption scheme. 

We took a course of Latin and of Greek, 
Which few could read and none of us could 

speak. 
How eagerly we used to dig and pull 
To get Greek roots we found were tough and 

whole, 
Though Cadmus planted them so long ago 
I do not know the year, — perhaps you do. 
Some have the foolish notion they are dead 
Because they lift no trees above our head, 
But you will find they have the vital sap 
That bore the fruit that filled Athena's lap. 
And that they've grown and spread until they 

reach 
Through many varied forms of living speech. 
The words that Homer used, still fresh and terse, 
Are glorious settings of immortal verse. 

They bothered me and made me such a fool 
I once mistook a heifer for a bull. 
The whole class laughed, they had no better 

sense. 
Though they could make like blunders then and 

since. 
Jack^ stammered, hitched and blushed from 

ear to ear 

1. Prof. Wright 

51 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



And said my reading was a little queer, 
For it he found no warrant in the text, 
And so he flunked me dead and called the next. 

We followed Caesar over mountains icy 
And heard him boasting, '*Veni, vidi, vici." 
Today they read it, **Wanee, weedee, weekee" 
And rhyme the famous bulletin with squeaky. 
But little more they know how Caesar said it 
Than Parker did who taught us how to read it. 
But let them wag their tongues a different way, 
We got the sense of it as quick as they. 
We studied hard great Caesar's ways and rules 
That might not meet the test in modern schools. 
In open field in terrible array 
He led his legions to the bloody fray. 
It matters not what sound he gave his vowels 
Who drove his sword into Helvetian bowels. 

A freshman tried to prove, the story runs. 
That Caesar used the latest style of Maxim guns. 
But Parker asked for facts about the secret 
And said he might have used a tennis racket; 
Or else the art of making guns was lost 
And buried by the side of Caesar's ghost. 
If found, the fancy and the facts might fit. 
The freshman blushed at the Professor's wit 
And many weeks he spent in ardous moil; 
But missed the facts in spite of all his toil. 



52 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



We sent that freshman to the whitewashed 

church^ 
Where barnyard fowls beneath the rafters perch. 

We read the eloquence of Cicero 
Denouncing Verres as an alien foe 
And sat with Horace on his Sabine farm 
Far from the city's roar and war's alarm. 
We heard Demosthenes beside the sea 
Or thundering to his fierce Democracy. 
We took a humble seat in Plato's school 
And conned the thoughts that through the 
ages rule. 

We knew that Virgil would have written 
English 
Had he but known how Latin caused us anguish. 
We cursed him not because he made us toil 
And gladly burned for him our midnight oil. 
He sang the wrath Achilles wrought on Troy, 
The joys and sorrows of her wandering boy. 
We read his pleasant story grandly told 
And loved it then, and love it now we're old. 
He missed one joy, and that was Johnny Lord,^ 
Who could explain each doubtful tense and word, 
For Johnny was the boy upon the spot 

1. A white-washed barn known as the Freshman's 

Church. 

2. Prof. Lord 



53 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



To trip us in the Latin we forgot. 

He always could explain the reason why 

When Virgil's facts and story went awry. 

We thought Anchises made a heavy load 
As brave Aeneas bore him down the road. 
But what of that? He found the goodly ships 
That bore him through the seas to Dido's lips, 
And Cupid soon arranged the marriage plans 
But jealous Jupiter forbade the banns. 
Naught else to do, Aeneas changed his mind 
And sailed away and left a queen behind; 
And that is how he came to Latium's shore 
And set a line a thousand years and more. 

No doubt, Achilles thought he was some boy 
When dragging Hector round the walls of Troy. 
Less glorious, perhaps, it was more funny, 
To see us prance upon a college pony. 
Our doughty steed, with neck unclothed in 

thunder, 
Trotted through the classic lands without a 

blunder. 
He switched his tail and stamped upon the sod 
And ate his oats and let old Homer nod. 
He had no wings to skip the mountain tops 
But kept good time with all the rhythmic stops. 
He was an ever present useful beast 
And surely does deserve a tear, at least. 



54 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



We heard Pa Leeds, who preached in mono- 
tones 
And found his sermons in the sleepy stones, 
For had he found them in the noisy brook. 
We would have missed the naps we often took. 
But if, perchance, he left our hearts unreached 
We knew full well he practised what he preached. 

We see old Prexy^ with his hat and cane 
And hear his salutation sound again,- 
'*Good morning, sir," he said, with courtly bow 
Abending to the right and somewhat low. 
His presence active, austere and alert 
Made shivers creep beneath the freshman*s 

shirt. 
Of scant proportions, short in stature 
The gods endowed him with a virile nature. 
To emphasize that none should be a shirk 
And punctuate his prayers, his head would jerk. 
In Christian scholarship both rich and sound, 
His like is rare in all the world around. 

We see old Dartmouth Hall, three stories 
high. 
With belfry limned against the northern sky. 
What fond associations gather there! 
What memories are haunting hall and stair! 
How musical its chapel bell appears 
With gathered sweetness of a hundred years! 

1. Pres. Bartlett. 

55 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



Its frame, a product of the woodman's axe; 
So strong, it seemed like one of Nature's facts. 
Its window blinds were green, its walls were 

white 
Yet dear they were as seen in any light. 
At morn, how often dreading monitors. 
We rushed from breakfast storming through its 

doors; 
For we had learned he was a luckless chap 
Whose sleep had caused an absence for a nap. 

Though life therein was frolicsome and glad, 
Its rooms were simple as the Spartans had, 
Warmed by the stoves that burned the living 

coal 
And not by pipes that run from hole to hole 
And seem to reach into the nether world 
Where lost and unrepentant souls are hurled. 
Upon our hearths no rats could toast their toes 
Nor here and there in warm partitions doze. 
Although we woke to wash in frozen bowls 
Our fingers dingy with the smutty coals. 
Who would exchange the glowing cheerful grate 
For hissing pipes that fill the soul with hate? 
What else can satisfy the heart's desire 
In equal measure with a genial fire? 
You feel its glow and let your fancy play 
While magic castles rise and fade away. 
You watch the rings that float upon the air, 
Frail barks, but strong to bear away your care. 



56 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



How oft a fire inspires the poet's muse 
Until his thoughts in forms of beauty fuse! 
The student's room, indeed, has lost a charm 
Whose atmosphere the new devices warm. 

One part may have a special interest 
That some may favor over all the rest. 
But who forgets the Alley known as Bug 
Where **beasties" nestled in the beds so sung, 
And took their lawless exercise at night 
And woke the sleeper with their vicious bite? 
That made the freshmen choose, they felt so 

limpy. 
To sleep on stones down in the Vale of Tempe? 
What theme were this had Bobby Burns been 

there 
Who sang the louse upon a lady's hair 
And prayed the gods so strong the gift **to gie us" 
That we might see ourselves as others see us? 
Although unsung the bug was not uncursed 
By every soul that felt the wounds he nursed. 
And though the specie is, perhaps, extinct 
Its name is with a famous Alley linked. 

Some say the oculist had less to do 
When pine knots lit the page our fathers knew, 
Or that the eyes were strong and unabused 
When harpoon oil or tallow dips were used. 
We will not now discuss the kinds of light 
But turn again to Dartmouth Hall at night. 



57 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



When student lamps and not electric films 
Shone through the panes upon the campus elms. 
Methinks those panes were windows of the soul 
That indistinctly lit our future goal! 
Its corridors then echoed to the tread 
Of feet that sought the path where Duty led; 
Its stairs, if not the golden ones of fame, 
Were steps to heights where shines an honored 

name. 
At last the furies claimed it for their prey 
And in an hour its form had passed away. 
But from its ashes sprang a structure new 
That to the olden purpose will be true. 

But this we know, that after all is told, 
In all the new, we cannot find the old. 
Some feet that woke the echoes of the hall 
Will ne'er return except at Fancy's call; 
Some voices joyous in our college sports 
Will ne'er be heard except in Memory's courts. 
Not all the gods of earth possess the power 
To bring us back a vanished day or hour. 
No tears we shed, no words that we can say. 
Restore companions of our work and play. 

We will not close with light and flippant 
phrase 
Concerning those who well deserve our praise. 
Our debt of gratitude we gladly pay 
To each professor of our college day; 



58 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



True teachers when they praised or chided us, 

Philosophers who wisely guided us. 

Their labors were too poorly paid on earth, 

Their final prize shall better suit their worth. 

The most of them have passed beyond the bar 

Whose sea is lighted by the promised star,- 

Examples of a Christian chivalry, 

Each soul, a name of blessed memory. 

A few remain, a trinity is all;^ 

Long may they live before the shadows fall! 

1. Since this was written, I have learned that 

more than three old professors are living 
in 1917. 



59 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE FOUNDER OF DARTMOUTH 

FAR up beneath the northern stars 
Where landscapes lay in quietude 
And northern lights in rainbow bars 
Streamed o'er a primal solitude, 

Far from the sounds of busy marts 

And rush and din of peopled street, 

Where unmolested roamed the harts 
In paths untrod by human feet, 

'Twas there a seed of learning fell 

That lifts a form as God had planned : 

In sun and storm it groweth well 

And twice a thousand years shall stand, 

And who was he who set the seed? 

No scion of a royal line, - 
He was a man of common breed 

Yet one whose clay was moulded fine. 

But whether prophet, saint or sage 
Let others say who better know, 

For we shall our opinion gauge 

By what his patient labors show. 



60 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



We see him on the forest road, 

Afaring north with rum and books, 

His oxen tugging at their load ,- 

How wild the whole adventure looks! 

We laugh and jest about his rum. 

His many oddities of creed 
And smile at his curriculum 

That poorly meets our present need. 

To judge by these would do him wrong; 

They measure not his life and plan. 
Beneath them lay his manhood strong 

Through which a noble purpose ran. 

How oft we fain would mold anew 

The figures of the elder days. 
As if our power could make more true 

The forms who trod heroic ways. 

We spin the wheel with 'prentice skill 
And think our work will little lack 

Until at last, for all our will. 

We find we've made a jumping jack. 

But gods of old could spin the wheel, — 
Though here a mole upon the cheek 

Or there a spot upon the heel 

Their forms did live and move and speak. 



61 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



Our founder had, as you may say, 
His share of foibles and of faults; 

But did he not pursue his way. 
Led by a purpose that exalts? 

Here in the wold he built a fire 

Not fed by withered leaves and wood 

But by the soul's unquenched desire 
To spread the love of Christianhood. 

Though you and I have lived to see 

A rich fruition of his work 
We cannot see what yet shall be 

The good a distant age shall mark. 

Fame's trumpet louder may have blown 

Elswhere; but while these hills shall stand 

They'll keep, as treasure of their own. 
An impress of his heart and hand. 



62 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



A SCRAP OF PAPER 

'*>Mr^IS nothing but a scrap of paper, 

-»■ A covenant that time has made absurd, 
So fold it in a dusty wrapper 

And lay aside a Nation's broken word.''* 

When will the martial conflicts cease, 
If solemn bond is but an idle deed? 

When will the thousand years of peace 

Be ushered in, if faith's a broken reed? 

Not till the faithless kings are gone 

And earth is bound in universal law. 

And all who stand beneath the sun. 

Shall hold our God and his decrees in awe. 

* Refers to Von Bethman-Hollweg's declaration 
respecting the treaty guaranteeing the 
neutrality of Belgium. 



63 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



VISION OF PEACE 

THE vision that the prophets saw, 
Shall be fulfilled beneath the law; 
A thousand years shall be a day 
And twice a thousand pass away, 
Yet peace shall wear a smiling face 
And wars no longer vex the race. 
The swords and spears shall turn to shares, 
The wheat shall grow without its tares, 
The laden ships go down to sea, 
The rivers flow unvexed and free. 
And far and wide the deserts bloom. 
Their fairest flower, the freeman's home. 



64 




Had Adam been a little wise, 
And given Eve a taste of trout, 
He might have saved the paradise 

From which mankind was driven out. 

(P. 78) 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



A SCOTCH FRIEND^ 

FROM Scotland's heathered land he came 
When life was in its prime, 
The new world's hope had lured him on 
To seek our newer clime. 

He wore no title, brought no wealth 

Except the manhood given. 
The like of which if multiplied 

Would make the earth a heaven. 

A generous soul as we have known 

And quietly he wrought; 
Whatever gift one hand might give 

The other knew it not. 

None envied him what he had gained 

By honest toil and thrift, 
For many shared with him that gain 

By many a private gift. 

"Here fellah, tak' it for the bairns." 

Such was his Scottish burr, 
But kindlier tone is rarely heard 

To set the heart astir. 

1. George B. Milne. 

65 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



Although the world may send us dregs, 
It sometimes sends its best, 

And such was he whom we have loved 
And now have laid to rest. 



66 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



LAKE CHAMPLAIN 

OLAKE! a light of olden skies 
Is on thy surface shining, 
A glory and a splendor lies 

Around thy shores undying. 

The memories of distant years 
Upon the soul are thronging, 

Recalling all the hopes and fears 
To other times belonging. 

Here England came with armied host 
That bore the cross and dragon; 

And France her northern empire lost 
In the struggle with the Saxon. 

Here sprang the hopes that tyrants mocked 
From thrones beyond the ocean; 

And on these gentle waves was rocked 
The cradle of a Nation. 

These skies, these hills, these waters blue. 
Have trembled with the thunder 

When Freedom's cause was born anew 
And bondage broke asunder. 



67 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



From northern bound to southern keep 
The battlements are leveled; 

In peace of God the heroes sleep 
Where savage foes have reveled. 

No more the sounds of savage war 

Shall echo through these mountains, 

Where bloodless now the rivers pour 
The waters of their fountains. 

The hostile fires that lit the shore 
Shall ne'er again be lighted; 

These prospects fair shall grow to more 
And ne'er again be blighted. 

The sounds and cries of savage dance, 
That broke the primal stillness, 

Have gone, like chivalry of France 
And England's mighty prowess. 

In thought alone, the woodland bell 

Is ringing as we listen, 
And casts on us a magic spell 

As midnight waters glisten. 

The warrior bands of spirit land 
Around these islands hover, 

And meet upon the forest strand 
To count their trophies over. 



68 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



The winds that o'er these waters sweep 
Are freighted with a story 

That dusty archives never keep 
Of legendary glory. 

The spirits of Montcalm and Stark, 
Of Amherst, Howe and Allen, 

Like stars, this firmament shall mark 
As sacred to the fallen. 

For hero souls, as legends say. 
Are stars within the azure 

And shed a light upon our way 
That mortals cannot measure. 



69 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



COLUMBUS 

WHEN God in bounty gave this earth to man, 
With all its priceless treasures blessed, 
It was a part of his eternal plan 

That they should be an endless quest. 

He spreads his lands beneath the distant skies 
And pours his oceans round them all 

Till many a land, a lost Atlantis lies 

Beyond the deeps where dread horizons fall. 

He gave no chart or sail for all his seas. 
No guide to treasures of his lands. 

But bound them all in fearful mysteries. 
Yet left the key in human hands. 

From land to land through ages of the past, 
Through desert sand and trackless wood. 

The pioneer did press, until at last 
The ocean in his pathway stood. 

The feeble eye could see the vast expanse, 

Horizons bent to waters blue, 
The endless billows in an endless dance 

That stretched to shores that no one knew. 



70 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



Along those pathways of the mighty deep 

The stars had never seen a sail; 
Alone, the thunder broke the monster's sleep 

When o'er the waters swept the gale. 

The wonders of the deep appalled the soul, 
The strength of distance, storm and tide 

Defied the puny craft of man's control 
And mocked and baffled all his pride. 

Of all the generations, who would dare 
To seek the course of setting sun 

And lay the mysteries and wonders bare 
That baffled hope since time begun? 

Yes, who? How long before the answer comes! 

What noble heart will say, **I dare"? 
How long will man keep building little Romes 

When larger worlds might be his share? 

What pittance of a border war's expense. 
Could spread the sail and lay the keel 

To solve the age-long problem of suspense, 
And break the bond of Nature's seal. 

At last, beneath the humble cotter's roof. 
Endowed with inate strength and worth. 

Was born the soul that dared the toil of proof. 
To solve the riddle of the earth. 



71 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



He pushed his prow into an unknown sea 
Until the needle lost its star ^ 

And fearful mysteries that had no key 

Spread o'er the waste that had no bar. 

With unfamiliar stars the skies were sown 
As from the ancient shore he drifted 

Into a realm where sails had never flown, 
Where neither isle nor headland lifted. 



All hearts were faint, all minds were filled with fear, 

Lest legends of the sea be true 
That monsters of the ocean would appear 

To swallow up the ship and crew.^ 

What anxious hours, what vigils of the night. 
What search of sea and sky for sign 

That their frail caravels were steering right 
To prove the plan of God's design ! 



1. As he sailed westward, Columbus discovered that the needle deflected 
more and more from the North Star and anticipating the superstitious fears 
of his pilots he invented the theory that the deflection was due to the revolu- 
tion of the star in its orbit. 

2. At the time Columbus sailed there was a superstitious belief that 
somewhere in the western ocean was the end of the world inhabited with 
huge monsters capable of swallowing a ship. 



72 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



A floating weed, a drifting piece of wood, 
The flight of birds that haunt the land. 

The golden mist that 'round the horizon stood 
Were tokens of the longed-for strand. 

At last a ray of light shone through the dark. 

The watchers whispered, **Did you see?" 
And eagerly they gazed and watched the spark 

That flashed across the midnight sea. 

It disappeared. Was it the witches' light? 

Who kindled it? What might it mean? 
Would morning bring a continent in sight 

Along the pathway of its sheen? 

What moments change our fate! The coming 
morn 

Might change the course of destiny. 
No land and dread of dangers to be borne 

Might lift the hand of mutiny. 

The Admiral alone possessed the faith 
That kept the rudder to the west. 

In spite of doubt or dread or water wraith 
He bore the burden of his quest. 

Beyond the line where sky to water dips 

He saw the shores of old Cathay; 
Its spicy harbors, filled with men and ships 
That crossed the world by th' western way. 



73 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



He saw the walls of old Jerusalem 

Whose streets the paladins had trod. 

He'd arm a host and win a diadem 
As victor at the tomb of God.^ 

It was his dream, but what a dream it was! 

It lured him onward to his goal, 
And proved the truth of everlasting laws 

That rule the earth from pole to pole. 

The earth was round! And superstition died 
When on the distant island shore 

The great Columbus knelt with humble pride 
And kissed the sands of Salvador. 



3. Columbus intended to devote the wealth derived from his discoveries 
to a new crusade for the recovery of the holy sepulchre. 



74 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



MODERN WAR 

THE winds of the north, the winds of the south 
Are hot with the flames of the cannon's 
mouth 
And mingled with the scent of the flowers 
Is the stench of the flesh the rat devours. 

Did the barbarous Hun in the far off days 

Ever ply his art in the murderous ways 

That are used by the Christ-taught children of 

light 
In order to win in the martial fight? 

The lurid flame of the death-giving gas 
That withers our sons as it withers the grass, 
The smoke that chokes in the throat and the 

lungs 
And burns in the eyes and blisters the tongues, 

The sharks that swim in the ocean caves 
And laugh at the child that sinks in the waves. 
The dragons that fly through the regions of air 
And drop from their wings with a dastard's care 

The missiles that fall on the sleeping land 
To do the work of the devil's own hand,- 
All of these, great God, and a thousand more 
Are daily things in a modern war. 



75 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE ODD FELLOW 

AND who are you? The fellow counted odd 
And proud as any who may tread the sod. 
Of friendship, love and truth you wear the sign 
Your Order gives that life be noble and benign. 

You eke the widow's mite, the orphans' share, 
That none may lack the needful dole and care. 
Your lineage backward runs a hundred years 
But forward long as men have grief and tears. 

Three links are all you number in your chain, 
But round the world they reach and back again 
And millions have they bound and yet will bind 
In brotherhood as broad as humankind. 

It matters not what distance you may roam. 
In every lodge you find a brother and a home. 
No star that watches out its nightly course. 
No spring that gushes from its pebbled source, 

Can better symbolize your thought and deed 
Than your three links — your bond of help and need. 
Then sing the links that bind a brotherhood 
In noble acts of charity and good. 

The sum of happiness for age and youth 
Is ever found in friendship, love and truth. 
These are the angels three that will attend 
Till every man in each shall find a friend. 

76 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



SIR ISAAC'S SPORT 

OF all the arts that men employ 
To satisfy their love of pleasure, 
What other yields a greater joy 
Or fills the heart with fuller measure, 
Than angling in a mountain stream 
Where air and sun at best appear. 
Where landscapes lie as in a dream 
And all the world is free of care? 

There in and out, 'neath bank and root. 

In shyness dart the finny prey; 

Across the pebbles see them shoot 

As swift as is the lightning's ray; 

Or poised against the current's force, - 

An image in the crystal mirror,- 

They drink the drafts of the woodland source; 

Then frightened flee away in terror. 

No awkward hand can win a bite 
And give them courage for the hook; 
By skillful throw, the fly must light 
As if it flew into the brook. 
They know a clown when one appears; 
His stumbling step and halting way, 
To sharpest eyes and keenest ears. 
The danger of the hook betray. 



77 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



No angler who has learned his art 

Will cast a shadow, make a sound 

At which the finny prey will start,- 

Success in gentleness is found. 

And that is why, it's often said. 

The anglers win in love and sport, 

For how can trout or pretty maid 

Resist the charms with which they court? 

What simple means! A bit of cork 
That ripples cause to rise and fall, 
A worm upon a silver fork, 
A rod, a line and lead are all. 
But great results are often due 
To little things that we despise. 
No better feast hath king than you 
When fish upon the platter lies. 
In ev'ry brook the heavens lie 
So fishes are a heavenly brood; 
The angler casts into the sky 
And catches there an angel's food. 

Had Adam been a little wise 
And given Eve a taste of trout 
He might have saved the Paradise 
From which mankind was driven out. 
The serpent with his cunning guile 
Could not have made the apple seem 
As tempting as a woman's smile 
And caused the fall we must redeem. 



78 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE CHILD AND THE STARS 

I SAW the stars lie on the river's bed, 
They seemed as real as those above my head. 
I cast a pebble on the sleeping stream, 
And, lo! they danced as in a troubled dream. 

A child laughed at my side and asked me why 
I did not make the stars dance in the sky. 
I flung a pebble at the distant blue; 
She laughed and watched it as it upward flew. 

But when she saw it fall she ceased her laughter 
Because they did not dance as in the water. 
I tried to tell her why, but little more 
She learned from me than what she knew before. 

How little did I know the starry mist. 

Her knowledge went as deep as mine, I wist. 

Into the secrets of the Maker's plan 

By which the stars shall shine and baffle man. 



79 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE DONNAR OAK 

DEEP in the forest gloom of Hesse 
There grew a mighty oak, 
And from its heart, as people thought, 
The voice of Donnar spoke. 

This Donnar was a heathen god 

To whom the Germans prayed; 

This oak his home, where all were blessed 
Who stood within its shade. 

But with an axe one festal day 
A priest hewed down the oak\ 

And as it fell beneath his blows, 
A bond of error broke, 

They watched his blows expecting wrath 

To fall upon his head. 
But unavenged the giant fell 

And faith in it was dead. 



1. In the seventh century the Irish missionary, Boniface, cut down an 
oak from which the Germans believed their god, Donnar, spoke. 



80 




Each night the sky shall drop its stars 

Into the crystal water, 
And write his name in golden bars 

For all the ages after. 

(P. 90) 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



How oft we seek divinities 

And find them made of wood! 

How oft we glorify a thing 

That's neither great nor good! 

The faith that hound the forest children 

To think a tree divine 
Is like the one that holds today 

Where flows the river Rhine. 

Not in an oak hut camp and court 

The present god is found 
Who claims a scepter from the sky 

As one by Heaven crowned. 

"Vice-regent on the earth am I, 

So let my will be done; 
So let my armies win for me 
A place within the sun." 

It is an error born anew 

That held the world in thrall; 

An error that we must destroy 
Lest freedom's temple fall. 



81 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



HONEST JOHN' 

t^T^IS not by any set and formal plan 

-■- That Nature makes her finest creature, man; 
Nor does she on the outer form unroll 
The beauty, strength and value of the soul. 

She has a purpose in her forms of clay 
But why they differ so, we cannot say. 
She gave an ugly face to Socrates 
And to Adonis, gave a form to please. 

The former taught the world philosophy. 
The latter showed it pride and vanity. 
Although uncouth in manners, form and dress 
We love our Nation's Martyr none the less. 

Our brother boasted not of outward grace 
Yet few more wished to fill an honored place. 
By service and by deed he truly won 
The worthy sobriquet of Honest John. 

He had no double meaning when he spoke. 
We trusted to the word he never broke; 

1. John H. Senter. 

82 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



A lover and a student of the law, 

The line twixt right and wrong he tried to draw. 

Yes; valiantly he ran the race of life 
And won a goal of unemhittered strife, 
Forgotten now let all his frailties be,- 
'Tis lawyer, friend and citizen we see. 



83 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE REUNION AT GETTYSBURG 

(1913) 

THE years have flown, two score and ten, 
Since twice a hundred thousand men 
Were locked in mighty deadly strife 
To take or keep the Nation's life. 
God willed this crescent hill should be 
A trysting place of destiny; 
This gentle valley, golden then. 
Should be a human slaughter pen. 
He willed the masters here should bleed 
For centuries of sin and greed ; 
Their blood be poured upon this sod 
To satisfy the wrath of God 
And make secure the Fathers' plan,- 
The noblest heritage of man. 

Here Lee hurled forth the matchless corps, 
Whose deeds shall echo ever more,- 
A thunder bolt to clear the way 
Where stood the guns of Doubleday. 
Though faster fell the iron hail, 
And longer grew the bloody trail. 
And men like stubble withered fast. 
Before the cannon's fiery blast. 



84 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



And from the earth the red streams gushed 
Where hellish missiles cut and crushed; 
It mattered not, — in perfect form 
They marched into the fiery storm. 

They swept the slope and stormed the crest 
And part way through the ramparts pressed; 
Then man to man the battle rages 
To solve a question of the ages. 

So short the flame, it seems a spark, 
So close, it burns the bullet's mark. 
The shouts and cries that rend the air. 
The curse that dies in smothered prayer, 
The surge and tug of the seething mass. 
The lines that break like brittle glass. 
The breach through which the rebels swarm. 
The furious rush to meet the storm. 
The heaps of dead in pools of blood, 
(The ghastly dunes of the crimson flood,) 
The clash of arms and roar of guns, 
All tell how fierce the tempest runs 
Where back and forth the standards reel 
As columns bend before the steel. 

How long, O God, can last the battle 
Where men are slain like driven cattle? 
It seems an age. *Tis but an hour 
That sinks or lifts a people's power. 



85 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



The tumult dies and loud and clear 
Rings out the joyous Northern cheer. 
The host that came in brave array 
Is but a splendor passed away; 
While o'er the cloud that hid the slope 
God built a bow of glorious hope. 

No braver charge, no braver stand, 
Is found in any age or land. 
The fury that assailed this ridge 
Once swept across the Lodi bridge, 
And rode at Balaklava's charge, - 
A deed that gilds the British targe. 
But the spirit of Thermopylae 
Lives in the hearts of men born free; 
It nerved the arms that held this crown 
And beat the Southland's fury down. 

Today a Nation mourns her sons, 
Alike the true and erring ones; 
Upon the graves of all she lays 
The cypress branch and laurel bays. 
For like in honor fell the brave 
Beneath the north or southern stave. 
Cast in heroic mould was each. 
And both shall unborn ages teach 
Devotion, tried in blood and flame 
That consecrates the soldier's name. 



86 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



All honor to the Blue and Gray 
That meet beneath one flag today; 
The bitterness of strife forgot 
Upon the field for which they fought. 
Their eyes beheld a wonder born; 
Upon the banners rent and torn 
They saw the withering flame of war 
Rekindle each extinguished star, 
And long as shall our banners fly 
The kindled glory shall not die. 
They purged the nation of its dross; 
Reset, as guide, the Christian cross 
Upon this western shore of earth, 
Where men are free by right of birth. 



87 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



OVER THE TOP. 



/^VER the top we go tomorrow, 
^^ Though shot and shell may rend our ranks, 
To win the foeman's trenches narrow 
In the wake of the lumbering tanks. 

Over the top with cheer and jest 

To race with death through No Man's Land, 
And answer to the hero's test 

In the hour by destiny planned. 

Over the top with thoughts of home 

Where moistened eyes may read **In case," 

Writ by the light where cannons boom 
And the flare of the shells in our face. 

Over the top beneath drum fire 

And through the clouds of poisoned gas, 
That float along, a funeral pyre. 

Like the fumes of the Witches' grass. 



88 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



Over the top and some will fall, 

Their blood will sink and harvests grow 
Where flocks shall hear the shepherd's call 

When the sun in the West is low. 

Over the top without a fear 

And some will see our banners fly, 

And win and wear the croix de guerre 
While their comrades in glory lie. 



89 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



A CHEVALIER 

AS brave and tender was Ghamplain, 
As any whom we treasure; 
To him a soul was greater gain 

Than empire's amplest measure. 

The ways of tolerance he trod 

When faith was cold and bitter; 

He gave his life to France and God, 
To make a people better. 

Each night the sky shall drop its stars 

Into the crystal water 
And write his name in golden bars 

For all the ages after. 



90 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



ROCK DUNDER 

HERE stands the rock, the Mohawk bound. 
The warrior's savage altar; 
The peaceful waves that ripple round 
Have oft been red with slaughter. 

For none of all the northern lands 

Below its line could venture,* 
Except to fight the Mowhawk bands. 

The fiercest sons of Nature. 



^Tradition says the Mohawks inflicted death upon all who ventured south 
of a line drawn east and west of Rock Dunder. 



91 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



PRESENTING DINING SET TO A PASTOR 

YOU came to guard a wayward flock, 
You brought the zeal of youthful years; 
You stand upon the Christian rock 

That shelters hope against our fears. 

Your guidance leads to pleasant ways, 
Beyond the font with broken bowl, 

Where God his golden pavement lays 
And builds the temple of the soul. 

But Eden's loss has left us needs, 

The flesh is heir to daily care; 
The soul may feed on heavenly creeds 

But bodies live on daily fare. 

We bring you that on which to spread 
The earthly bounties of your Lord ; 

On which to break the blessed bread 
Your humble pittance may afiord. 

Yet enemies shall never see 

A sumptions feast before them spread, 
For enemies can never be 

Where Love and Kindness break the bread. 



92 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



Your manly ways, your careful thought, 
The manners of your tempered mind. 

Are witnessed in the gift we've brought 

To show that works are things that bind. 

May grace upon your table rest 

As you its bounties shall partake; 

Let us in spirit be your guest 

And find it blessed to give and take. 



93 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



OUR CHARMS 

THERE are flowers that bloom on our hills 
That in beauty and fragrance excel; 
There are songs that are sung by our rills 
That are casting a magical spell. 

In our deep wooded dells you will find, 

Not the diamonds you cut for a crown, 

But the flowers and grasses combined 

That the hands of the fairies have sown. 

You may search through the earth as you will 
In the climes that are famous in story, 

But the grandest of splendor is still 

In our mornings and sunsets of glory. 



94 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



SENATOR L. 

BY one our number's growing less, 
By one we'll answer to the call; 
Who next, we neither know nor guess, 
Will be the one to fall. 

Since last we met, has passed a brother. 
Whom we could proudly call a peer. 

As years shall pass and we shall gather 
For him we'll drop a tear. 

We see him now, so full of years 

That he had passed the Bible limit, 

Yet well he bears his weight of cares 
In toiling towards the summit. 

His memory is not a sorrow. 

His name and worth remain a pleasure, 
A cup of joy for each tomorrow, 

With overflowing measure. 



95 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



SENATOR B. 

QWIFT comes the light, swift falls the dark, 
^ Swift spins the wheel that shapes the clay; 
Ere we a form can clearly mark 
It is a shadow passed away. 

How short the years since all were strong 
And parting seemed an intermission 

As if the time would not be long 
Before we met again in session. 

Five times since then we've gathered here:^ 
Each time an absent one was noted, 

Each time a voice we failed to hear 

Until five vacant chairs are counted. 

Tonight we miss another form, 

Of stalwart build and pleasant feature; 
Whose heart for all beat true and warm 

Because he had a kindly nature. 

1 . Senate Chamber. 



96 




Though leaves may fall, the tree is sound, 
Its heart no frost nor rust can harm; 

With roots spread in the genial ground 
It smiles in sun and laughs in storm. 

(P. 114) 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



He served his country in her needs, 
His State in legislative hall, 

Society by useful deeds, - 

A faithful servant to them all. 



We lay a wreath upon his chair 
In attitude of silent prayer, 
And trust the sea beyond the bar 
Is lighted by the promised star. 



97 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



SENATOR G. 

THE pleasant isles of Lake Champlain 
Are jewels in a sun-kissed main. 
What better place for him to dwell, 
Whose life was true, whose work was well? 
With modesty he bore his part. 
And sought no gain by trick or art. 
No boisterous ways, no loud pretense, 
E'er marred his course of common sense. 

He came to us in manhood's prime; 
We thought not of his measured time. 
His health and vigor prophesied 
A length of days, ere ebbed the tide 
Of life, that flowed so full and strong,- 
But none, alas, may tarry long! 

Among the first his race is run,- 
If all would run as straight a one 
The earth, a fairer, better place 
Would be for all the human race. 



98 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



DARTMOUTH REUNION 

DEAR Alma Mater, mother of us all, 
From east and west, we gladly come, 
A happy throng, in answer to thy call 
That bids thy children gather home. 

We see thy graciousness increased with years. 
We count no wrinkles on thy brow. 

Still beautiful and young thy face appears; 
As first we saw, we see thee now. 

Unchanged, save in the circumstance of dress, 
We view again thy stately mien 

And gazing on thy present loveliness. 

With childhood ardor, call thee Queen. 

Methinks thy cradle was a wind-rocked bough. 
Thyself, an orphan of the forest. 

Thy birthplace hath become an altar now 

Where thousands worship thee as dearest. 

With unshod feet let us approach thy shrine, 

Let all our vows be loyal ones. 
And from thine eyes let love and blessing shine 

Upon thy proud and gathered sons. 



99 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



SOLDIERS' MONUMENT* 

THE war drums beat no more to bloody fray, 
The march is done for both the Blue and Gray, 
The music of the fife, the cannon's roar. 
Shall thrill the heart and stir the brain no more. 

The Southern fields that once were dank and red 
Are sacred urns that hold the ashes of our dead. 
The battle flags that floated on the breeze. 
Are locked in dusty glass with rusty keys. 

Is this our all? Our tribute to the brave? 
How little, paltry, for the much they gave! 
Each mart should have its monumental stone 
To keep alive the deeds our dead have done. 

If we would half as freely give our gold. 
As they their blood, for rights we sacred hold. 
We'd blush no more to think we had forgot 
At what a price the Nation's life was bought. 

Upon this City of our pride shall rest a shame 
As long as we neglect the soldier's fame; 
The granite of our hills should turn to dust 
Until we make of it a shrine of trust. 

^Written in 1914 to aid in raising funds for a soldiers* monument at 
Barre, Vermont. 

100 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



What kind of men are we that build for others 
The monuments that we refuse our brothers. 
Oh! Let the hand forget its cunning craft 
That builds for them no monumental shaft. 

We profit in our trade by th' blood they shed, 
And turn to gold the ashes of our dead. 
Awake! 'Tis duty calls to pay the debt,- 
The sacred bond, whose seal in blood was set. 

The finest stone when wrought with finest art 

Will be a paltry payment on our part. 

A blessing to the givers it will be 

To honor those who made our country free. 



101 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE STATES TO CANADA 

IN western skies we find our star of hope, 
And though we set a different flag or trope 
To mark the boundaries between our lands, 
Across those bounds we gladly clasp the hands. 

On either side sits Peace, and Plenty smiles 
Along our border of three thousand miles; 
And let us pray we'll count as many years 
Before an inch is wet with blood or tears. 

Although the North and South shall ever be 
Divided by a line from sea to sea, 
The men who own a common motherhood 
Shall find a glory in their brotherhood. 

And if the twentieth century be yours. 
In measure as the cycle gone was ours. 
We will not envy you your happy lot 
Nor let the ties of kindred be forgot. 

L'envoi. 
Then let us place your maple leaf 
Beside our mountain golden rod 
So that the two shall make a sheaf 
To symbolize the will of God. 



102 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE BATTLE OF PLATTSBURG BAY 

IT was a bright September day, 
When ships of war at anchor lay 
Within the arms of Plattsburg Bay, 
All decked in war's array. 

Behold the stars and stripes afloat 

From tallest ship to smallest boat. 

While loud and clear the bugle's throat 
Sounds forth the martial note. 

Responsive comes the sailor's cheer, 
And all the decks for action clear 

As England's prows are sweeping near, 
Inspiring doubt and fear. 

Oh! strong the sons of the island State, 
In all the deeds of battle great; 

The far spread seas their orders wait 
As on the law of fate. 

A thousand years of sun and gale 

Have beat upon their deck and sail 

And oft they've seen the foeman quail 
Before their iron hail. 



103 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



But tars, whose home is on the deep, 

Whose flag through freedom's sky would 
sweep. 

Today beneath the waves shall sleep 
While England's daughters weep. 

For here Macdonough's ships, like rock. 
Shall stand against their battle shock 

And cheering crews and crowing cock* 
Old England's pride shall mock. 

And Freedom's sons with cannon stroke. 
Amid the thunder and the smoke, 

Shall smite the vaunted walls of oak 
Till none remain unbroke. 

Though valiantly the Brittons die. 

Their flag no more shall sweep our sky 

But stars and stripes alone shall fly 
Where Ghamplain's waters lie. 

'Twas thus old England's banner fell. 
Where hottest raged the battle hell. 

And few her tars who lived to tell 
The tale of shot and shell. 



♦One of the first shots from the English fleet released a rooster from a 
coop on the American flag ship. The rooster flew upon the rail of the ship 
and began to crow, whereat all the sailors cheered. 



104 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



NEW YEAR'S EVE IN CHURCH 

WE stand upon the threshold of a new year's 
grace 
And each and all are keeping time with 
God*s eternal sun. 
Within the gracious precincts of this sacred 
place, 
Our presence here should show each Sab- 
bath's duty done. 

The melodies that cheered the Christian ages 
gone 
Will fill the heart with hope and fresher 
courage give; 
The words repeated here of Heaven's begotten 
Son 
Are orisons to guide the wayward lives we 
live. 



This dedicated place is inspiration's home, 
Beside our troubled waters stands this 
Christian altar; 
Here in our path the rays that lit the manger 
come. 
That we may onward press, despite the feet 
that falter. 



105 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



Sustained by strength that holds the planet in 
its course, 
Surrounded by a love like ocean, bounding 
all. 
Persuaded to the right by strong yet gentle 
force, 
We find the way where nine should falter, 
none should fall. 



106 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE ANGLERS 

IT'S many virtues anglers have, 
They never lie about their fish; 
They know they have their souls to save 
And are as truthful as you wish. 
They keep the law and Gospel too, 
And tell you just the length of each; 
If you should search their baskets through 
You'd find they practice what they preach. 

**The trout I lost," if one should say, 

*'Was long as is the longest arm 

And twenty pounds or more would weigh," 

Don't wince, be credulous and calm. 

Don't answer in a sneering tone 

And choke and hem and make a muss 

As if your throat had caught a bone,- 

Just swallow it without a fuss. 

A doubting Thomas has no friends. 

He doubts us all and all doubt him; 

Believe and you will reach your ends 

And catch the biggest fish that swim. 

The angler is another Job, 

He must be patient at his task; 

If you should seek around the globe 

What greater patience can you ask? 



107 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



If th' line gets tangled with a root 

And minnies eat away the bait, 

If th' angler slips and wets a foot, 

He does not curse and swear at fate. 

For does not Walton truly say 

They know that swearing does not pay. 

But drives the fish from hook and net. 

Had prophet Jonah been profane 

A whale would ne'er have been his ark; 

It would have dropped him as a bane 

And left him as a food for shark. 



Our song would lengthen through the night 

And pleasantly the hours would fly 

If all their virtues we recite,- 

So great a task we will not try. 

But drink to the men who love the angle. 

As fine a lot as we can boast. 

Who never fight and never wrangle, 

A worthy set for any toast. 



108 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



STAR OF PEACE 

OH Peace, thou intermittant star, 
Whose rays are lost in depth of space, 
Too weak to break the clouds of war 
That shroud the human race. 

Thy orbit hath so wide a sweep 

That oft to men thou art a stranger, 

And brief the vigils that you keep 
As when you lit the manger. 

'Tis strange that Mars should shine supreme 
And fill the sky with baneful light, 

When men have prayed to see you gleam, 
The symbol of the right. 

But earth its purpose shall fulfill 

And fly a planet of the sun. 
While God is working out his will 

That ail shall be as one. 



109 



A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



DARTMOUTH 

WHEN to the north our Eleazar trod, 
He bore a torch into the wilderness, 
And built a school and temple to his God, 
That he might spread enlightened right- 
eousness. 

And through the centuries his torch will burn 
And, though the forest darkness now is gone, 

Still to the light he bore, mankind will turn 
And bless the spot on which its rays have 
shone. 

Our college was no marvel at its birth. 

No pompous functions laid its corner stone. 

Few knew the distant section of the earth. 
Where Eleazar chose to toil alone. 

But there was greatness in the humble deed. 
And in the plan, the wisdom of the sage; 

Of ceremonials there was no need. 

Nor gaudy trappings of a bannered stage. 

How oft a bounteous stream of blessing runs 
From out some hidden distant mountain 
source! 
As true and constant as the process of the suns. 
It flows through many windings with a quiet 
force. 

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A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



The founder of old Dartmouth may have thought 
The savage scenes he saw would long remain, 

But time and custom have their changes brought 
And gathered stores of profit and of gain. 

The old humanities were first supreme, 
A course of Gospel, Latin and of Greek 

Held fast the world's approval and esteem, - 
The one desired goal that all must seek. 

A change has come and now no more we wonder 
To see the learned trace the simian line. 

Explore the heavens above and oceans under 
Or baser metals for our use refine. 

But after all, some doubt if we have gained 
By casting by the classic course of old, 

They know how well the master minds were 
trained. 
That did the mysteries of life unfold. 

What odds! As well debate the style of gown 
That is the product of a tailor's art. 

By either way you make a man or clown. 
As each shall try or fail to do his part. 

We know the foibles that the founder had, 

How trivial as we weigh them with the good! 

His narrow creed to modern thought is bad, 
But still eternal truths he understood. 



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A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



With scanty means he had to work and plan 
And none can say he did not do his best; 

Amid adversity, he proved himself a man. 

And green the laurels on his brow will rest. 

The foibles that he had have passed away. 

So few we look on them with eyes discerning 

And only see with love and pride today, 
A noble edifice of Christian learning. 

As years increase and generations pass, 

The college, once unknown to current fame, 

Will often see its usefulness surpass 

Establishments that had the world's acclaim. 

An altar of the heart to Dartmouth men. 

Our college stands among the northern hills. 

What charter made to broaden human ken 
Was better drawn, or truer mission fills? 

Then cheer old Dartmouth with a hearty will. 
No strain of sadness mingled with your joy, 

And as the years your measured life shall fill. 
Remember that you are a Dartmouth boy. 



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A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE TEN PIN CLUB OF CHELSEA 

TEN ladies journeyed o'er the hills 
To see the sights of Barre, 
And what they did my story fills 

And made their hushands merry. 

These ladies bought ten silver pins; 

The husbands up and spoke: 
**Just one of woman's petty sins, 

The women are a joke." 

The ladies soon had laid a plan 
To bring the men to shame; 

They formed a club as ladies can 
With ten pins in its name. 

The Club is now a village glory, 

Increasing year by year; 
Its record is a pleasant story 

That Chelseaites hold dear. 

The men are sorry for their jest; 

The pins have pricked them sore. 
The ladies laugh the last and best 

And purchase ten pins more. 



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A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE TREE 

THOUGH leaves may fall, the tree is sound, 
Its heart no frost nor rust can harm; 
With roots spread in the genial ground 
It smiles in sun and laughs in storm. 



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A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



NEIGHBORS 

THE hands may clasp across the sea 
And that be counted much, 
But neighbor's hands should warmer be 
For closer is the touch. 



FORGET IT 

IF your name is Smith or Jones 
You should rest your weary bones, 
And forget the name you bear 
That has filled your life with care. 



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A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



BOSTON 

FAIR Boston was the Pilgrim's pride, 
Their city by the stately tide; 
Far famed her ships have sailed the seas 
Far flung her flag has kissed the breeze. 

As well, if not the best of all 
Her sons have answered Duty's call, 
Their deeds have won her world renown, 
Athena gave her Athen's crown. 

She is the country's eastern gate 
At which the ships and navies wait; 
Throned in the righteousness of laws 
And true to every human cause. 



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A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE NEW INN 

THEY have builded us an inn, 
They have builded us a house 
'Mid the hammer's noise and din 
For the public good and use. 

If inclined to joy and mirth 
You may gather round its hearth 
In the season's heat or cold 
While the merry tales are told, 
And the music fills the night 
With its pleasures and delight. 
You may smoke the sweetest brand 
That is found in all the land, 
And the clouds that upward curl 
Will your joys and hopes unfurl, 
And the castles of old Spain 
Will their turrets lift again 
In the shadows of the sky 
Where the golden sunsets die. 

It is cozy, it is grand, 

All the comforts at command. 

'Tis the latest and the best 

Of the lodgings east or west. 

Why then farther should you roam 

For a welcome and a home? 

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A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE MUCK RAKE 

WE are told that the Fathers were wise and 
were good, 
That they seldom were found in the wrong; 
For the truth and the Gospel they manfully 
stood, 
And their glory should burden our song. 

It is not that we wish to condemn what is old 
That we point to the seam in the past, 

But to show there were metals aside from the 
gold 
In the figures the ages have cast. 

For the rake of today that is used in the muck 
For the purpose of passion and hate 

Is a tool that the Fathers employed for luck 
In the strifes of the town and the state. 

And the name, the most lustrous of all on the 
page. 

Was besmirched with the mud of his day; 
Not a service of glory could baffle the rage 

Of the imps that infested his way. 



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A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



THE WRECK OF THE REPUBLIC 

^T^WAS off Nantucket's shoal bound coast, 
-■• When winter's blast was sweeping fast 
And mighty waves that demons tossed 
Shook every ship from keel to mast. 

The swirl and swish of waters black, 

Whose flying foam, like wings of doom, 

Shot upward from the Storm King's track, 
Were terrors of the angry gloom. 

In shrouding mist and darkness dun. 

The piercing prow with crushing blow. 

As swift as shot of mighty gun. 

Deals death to friend as to a foe. 

The walls of steel are broken glass. 

The ocean's pride no more shall ride 

The storm and gale; its shapeless mass. 

The "dark unfathomed caves" shall hide. 

The captain and his mate alone 

Do guard the wreck — a fading speck,- 

While fiendish Furies claim their own 
And laugh and dance upon the deck. 



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A VOICE OF THE HILLS 



The pistol shots and lights of blue, 
The Captain gave across the wave, 

Shall shine and echo ages through, 
Immortal signals of the brave. 

O shame! How feeble is the pen 

That would portray the noble way 

Which mate and captain showed to men 
That hero souls are born today. 

Oh! heroes are the salt that saves, - 
The chosen few that life renew. 

For man a higher level craves 

From knowing what his kind can do. 



FINIS 

If I have won a friend 
By what is written here, 

I have achieved the end 
The poet holds most dear. 



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